


Our Lives Burning Gold

by kaleidomusings



Category: DCU
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Butchering canon because that's how I roll, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 20:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleidomusings/pseuds/kaleidomusings
Summary: The view of Earth from the Watchtower reminds Clark just how big the universe is in comparison to this precious blue planet, and how utterly alone he is.





	Our Lives Burning Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the "canon" I used in this story is based heavily on JL animated series, but has strong elements from the comics and the movies. Sorry in advance.

The view of Earth from the Watchtower reminds Clark just how big the universe is in comparison to this precious blue planet, and how utterly alone he is. 

No matter how much he loves Earth and all he does to save it time and time again, he’ll never truly belong. He looks human, talks like one, thinks and feels and loves like one, but his Kryptonian heritage still sets him apart as _different_. So it’s really not surprising that his own biology betrays him as well. 

And it’s all because of the fever. 

He can usually dismiss it as a slight nuisance, something he gets once a month and quickly goes away if he spends a couple days at the Fortress of Solitude. But this is nothing like he’s ever felt before. He feels like he’s burning up on the inside, aching in his very bones. Every inch of his skin feels as if it’s being stung by thousands of bees and he doubles over, catching himself on the giant window -leaning his flushed face against the cool glass- and tries to remember how to breathe. 

“Clark.”

He shudders at the sound of that rough, growling voice and desperately shakes his head, not wanting Bruce to see him like this. No matter how much they’ve worked together with the rest of the their team to save the world and can even act civil with each other, there’s still a huge distance between them. Clark knows it’s because Bruce still sees him as an alien, a monster from another world that should be feared and hated. 

“Clark.” And that sounds like Diana.

“Sorry,” he rasps and straightens, even with his entire body screaming at him. “I didn’t mean to run out on the debriefing—I have to—Sorry—”

He turns to find them both staring at him, Diana with obvious concern on her face and Bruce completely unreadable beneath his cowl. Diana reaches out for him but he stumbles away and leaves the room as quickly as he can. Out in the hallway his head is clearer and he can breathe a little easier, but he suddenly feels so empty inside. 

A soft sound behind him and then, “Clark.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “Bruce, I—”

“Are you sick?”

Clark laughs and it’s a shaky, broken sound. “Does that surprise you?”

Not waiting for a response, he flies away and doesn’t look back. 

 

—

 

Clark never actually makes it to the Fortress. 

He crashes a few miles away from the entrance and lays curled up on his side, panting in the snow. The wind is frigid, but he barely feels it on his heated skin and wonders if the fever will finally kill him. A part of him worries about leaving his mother all alone, about the friends he’ll leave behind, but maybe the world will be a better place without him. The Justice League can keep the Earth safe and Bruce won’t hate him anymore. 

Apparently he passed out at some point because the next thing he knows, Bruce is crouched over him and pressing warm gloved fingers against his neck to check his pulse. Clark blinks at him, snowflakes clinging to his lashes, and wonders if he’s dreaming.

“Bruce?”

“You _idiot_ ,” he snarls back, even as if he’s gently lifting his head and studying his pupils. “Get up before you freeze to death.”

Clark manages to drag himself up in a sitting position before leaning against the other man’s chest, already exhausted by the small movement. Bruce swears under his breath, quickly unclasping his cape and -with a rustle of fabric- wraps it around his shoulders. He helps Clark stand and drags him to his jet, ordering him to keep his eyes open _or so help me Kent_ —

It makes him smile as he leans more heavily against his shoulder just to breathe in the clean earthy smell that’s purely Bruce. There’s something about the proximity of the other man that eases the fever burning him up on the inside, making him feel more like himself again. 

So as soon as they get inside the Fortress, he lets Bruce steer him to the small room he carved out as living quarters and and sits down on the bed, touching the other man’s wrist with a trembling hand. “Thanks,” he says quietly, “But I’m fine. You should get back to the others.”

Bruce frowns and yanks off his cowl, revealing his dark hair and the stunning blue of his eyes, sending a bolt of heat run through him. He’s suddenly overcome with the urge to run his fingers through the sweaty locks and is already raises his other hand to do it, when Bruce pushes a canteen into his palm. 

“Even you would’ve frozen to death out there with the way you are now. I’m staying.”

Clark blinks at the canteen in confusion and says, very carefully, “But you need it more than I do.”

“You’re the one with the fever,” Bruce replies, irritated and impatient. “Drink it, Clark.”

He’s learned a long time ago that arguing with Bruce won’t get him anywhere, so he does as he’s told. At least the water is fresh and cool, relieving his parched throat. He hands the canteen back and is startled to find the other man’s eyes are focused intently on his face. 

“What is it?”

“Do Kryptonians start their heats later in life?”

His fingers lose their grip on Bruce’s cape still wrapped around his shoulders and slips off slightly. “What?”

The other man slowly reaches out and tugs the cape back in place, his eyes dark and piercing. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“I’m not an omega,” Clark says firmly.

He isn’t anything. All the mandatory tests in high school couldn’t place Clark in the typical classifications of alpha, beta, or omega. The doctor explained that some people just never present, though they were extremely rare cases. Further proof that he doesn’t truly belong. 

Clark also doesn’t fit the typical definition of an omega. His fevers, although vaguely inconvenient, has doesn’t really affect him or made him want to mate just for the sake of mating. He’s never been attracted to alphas because of their cocky attitudes and aggressive posturing, as well as repulsed by the sexist comments they so often make. He didn’t like Bruce much when they first met either, but underneath all his masks -real or imaginary- is the most beautiful man he’s ever known, both inside and out. Brave, loyal, determined, intelligent, and impossibly kind. It was only a matter of time for Clark to fall in love with him. 

Because he’s in love with Bruce. Despite how stubborn he can get and all his trust issues, Clark loves him. And he’ll never be with him, because he deserves to be with someone who can complete him the way only a soulmate can. 

“So your body is going into heat on a whim?” Bruce asks wryly.

“I’m not in heat, Bruce.”

His brows furrow, like _Clark_ is being the difficult one. “You’re flushed and your pupils are dilated. I’d be able to tell even if I couldn’t already smell it on you.”

Clark shakes his head, wondering what evil deed he must’ve done in a past life to deserve this. “You’re not making any sense.”

“And you’re being needlessly obtuse.”

“Because you were never interested before!” Clark shouts, suddenly furious. All those years he spent _pining_ over this man. “I think an alpha would be able to tell if I was really an omega or not.”

Hurt flashes across Bruce’s face. “You don’t exactly keep your dislike for alphas a secret. I know better than to overstep my boundaries.”

“Still doesn’t make me an omega.”

“That’s because you never smelled like one until now,” Bruce says softly and places his hand on his neck, over his racing pulse. “You’ve only ever been interested in betas so I thought you were one. I suppose Kryptonians must be able to mask their smell except during their mating cycles.”

“I guess,” he says with a frown and startles when Bruce leans down, his breath ghosting over his lips. 

“Shall I help you?”

Clark jerks back with a blush and immediately Bruce lets him go, which just makes him angrier. He would’ve given anything to have the other man look at him the way he is now, but not like this. Never like this. “No.”

“All right,” Bruce says, like it’s that easy. He acts completely unfazed by the refusal, except for his own flushed cheeks. “Then I’ll wait in the jet. Call me if you need anything.”

“Wait.” He catches his hand and Bruce glances down at it in surprise. “I don’t—I can’t mate with you, but stay with me? Please?” _I don’t want to be alone_. 

_I don’t want this to be a one time thing_.

Bruce studies him for a long moment before finally nodding and unfastens his gauntlets and gloves, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud. He undoes the clasps of the suit and pulls the rest of it off with practiced ease, leaving him in just a pair of black boxers. Noticing the wide-eyed look on Clark’s face, he shrugs. 

“I can’t sleep with it on,” he says like that explains anything, and in a way it does. Bruce Wayne may need to sleep, but Gotham’s dark knight never does. 

Though it doesn’t change the fact that Bruce is standing in front of him practically naked. Clark quickly averts his gaze down and stares at his bare toes, face burning even as he’s oddly fascinated by them. Who knew Batman had such cute feet? “I’m not going to take my clothes off.”

“Then don’t,” Bruce says simply. The cot is too small for two grown men, but he maneuvers them so they’re lying on their sides and facing each other. He drapes his cape over them before wrapping his arms around Clark, who breathes in his scent and sighs at the feel of his warm body against his. It makes the fever a little bearable and Clark gratefully closes his eyes, exhausted.


End file.
